


Leave A Note

by cheshirecat101



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Death Threats, M/M, Role Reversal, Sacrifice, Suicide, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:42:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecat101/pseuds/cheshirecat101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes the fall instead of Sherlock so Jim can deliver on his promise; to burn the heart out of Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave A Note

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry. This just kind of happened. I've been listening to Golden by Fall Out Boy all day, and I rewatched Reichenbach last night, and then it accidentally came up in a conversation with the Sherlock to my Watson, and then this happened. So very, very sorry.

“Let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will _die_ if you don’t.”

He paused, the words hitting him at full force and the name that first came to mind popping out; “Sherlock.”

“Not just Sherlock. _Everyone_.” Jim’s eyes were sparkling, something between madness and delight splayed across his face.

The next name was harder to get out. His throat was beginning to feel tight. “Mrs. Hudson.”

“ _Everyone_ ,” Jim said, still in that sinfully excited whisper.

“Lestrade.”

“Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There’s no stopping them now.” He smiled at the same time as something broke in John, the doctor’s fists tightening where they were gripping Jim’s clothes to hold him over the edge before they relaxed again. He pulled Jim back to standing and released him, clenching his fists at his sides to prevent himself from hitting the madman, attacking him, fighting against this threat in the only way he could; physically, even though he knew that wouldn’t solve a damn thing. It was the only way he knew how to fight. They both knew that he wasn’t on the same level of intelligence as Jim and Sherlock, nowhere even near close. He couldn’t compete in this giant battle of wits, not where he was just a knight on the chessboard rather than the king.

“Why me?” he asked, his voice tight. “I thought you were trying to destroy Sherlock.” Not that he wanted their positions to be reversed, god no. Better that he took the fall, so Sherlock’s genius could live on. John Watson was unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but Sherlock Holmes was essential. And he’d always assumed he was going to die in the line of duty for Sherlock. Fate had saved his life in the first war he’d fought in, but he wasn’t going to be spared in this one. And that was alright. Dying in battle, to save others, was really something he wanted to do. It was a good way to go. Honorable. Just. Right.

Jim chuckled at a punch line John wasn’t insane enough to see. “Oh, Johnny boy,” he said, grinning at John with mad abandon. “Killing you _will_ destroy him. You were always his heart.”

_“I’ll burn the HEART out of you.”_

  

How could he forget. The absolute fury in Jim’s voice when he said it. The way Sherlock had subtly flinched. The way he’d looked at John afterwards, when they thought they were safe, as he tore the bomb vest off of him and checked him over, asking in that frantic voice if he was okay. Sherlock’s heart. God, if only he’d seen…

His eyes slipped shut under the weight of his circumstances and regrets, and the answering giggle he received from Jim barely reached him through the fog covering his brain. His heart. No, he couldn’t be. Because everyone needed a heart to live, and he knew Sherlock could continue without him. Sherlock had existed before him, had been fine on his own, and he could do it again. John swallowed painfully. Yes, Sherlock had never needed him at all; he’d been the one who needed Sherlock. To rescue him from a pathetic bedsit, to give him a purpose after the war was over, to pull him back into the danger he so needed, the adrenaline he craved. He’d been lucky that Sherlock spent any attention on him at all. Shame, that he wasn’t going to be able to have that anymore. That he wasn’t going to have any of Sherlock anymore, wasn’t going to have anything at all left. Not after this.   
“Alright,” he said, opening his eyes to turn a gaze heavy with determination and resignation on Jim. “Just…let me call him. Please,” he added when Jim gave him a displeased gaze.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Al-right,” he said, his voice dropping deeper on the second syllable. “But don’t take too long, Johnny boy. Gunmen do get so antsy, after all.”

John didn’t bother to respond, taking a deep breath and turning to the edge as he pulled out his phone, dialing Sherlock. As he stepped to the edge he could see a taxi pulling up below, Sherlock, unmistakable in his billowing coat, stepping out. After a minute, the detective picked up, already walking purposefully towards the door.

“Hello?”

“Sherlock,” John said, his voice already thick with barely restrained emotion.

He could see Sherlock nearly stop dead in his tracks, no doubt picking up the tone of his voice and every possible implication of it. “John, are you alright?”

“Turn around and walk back the way you came,” John said, surprised at how even he managed to keep his voice.

“I’m coming in—”

“Just do as I ask, Sherlock,” he said, his voice taking on the firmer tone he used when giving orders. “Please.”

Sherlock stopped walking, looking around for wherever John was. It seemed that, brilliant though he was, his mind didn’t even think to check the roof. Because why on earth would John be on the roof? “Where?” he asked, the word brisk, almost too flat to be a question. Good, he was treating this as important, that was the proper tone for it. John cast a glance back at Moriarty, who was pacing the roof behind him as he waited, evidently impatient. He turned around to see that Sherlock had started walking back the way he came, and he said quickly, “Stop there,” and Sherlock complied. Still hadn’t looked at the roof.

“John?”

“Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.”

“Oh god,” Sherlock said, his eyes trailing up the building and finally alighting on John. He couldn’t seem to get anything else out, and John wondered if this was what it took to completely shut that brilliant mind off. God, no, that was too painful a thought.

“I-I can’t come down so we’ll just have to do it like this.”

Sherlock’s voice was firm again. “John. What’s going on?” He’d probably already picked up that something was off about the situation, that John wasn’t doing this of his own volition. Or perhaps he was just refusing to accept what he was seeing with his own eyes. Like John would’ve.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.” The words came out shaky and rough, and John had to clear his throat before continuing. “You know I’m not…not very good with this kind of stuff—”

“John, please.”

“—but I want you to know. You…were the best man I ever knew. The most human…human being. I—” a hitch in his breathing that made his next words strained “—I was so alone before I met you, and I owe you so much.”

“Stop this, John. What’s going on? This is Moriarty, isn’t it?” Sherlock demanded to know, anger taking the place of whatever other emotions he was experiencing but shoving down.

John laughed slightly, though it came out brittle and thin. “Not everything has to be part of the game, Sherlock,” he said, though he could feel Jim’s gaze on him. “I can’t watch them hurt you anymore.”

“No, stop it now—” Sherlock was walking again, towards the building, and John commanded, “No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t. Move.”

Sherlock stopped immediately, moving back to his previous spot as his hand rose, mirroring John’s, both of them reaching out for each other. “I won’t,” he promised, and John could hear something fragile in his voice. He sounded so very breakable, and for a moment he thought Jim was right. _Sherlock’s heart_.

John took another deep breath, the pressure in his chest nearly unbearable. “Keep your eyes on me, Sherlock, please, can you do this for me?”

“Do what?” Sherlock said, and god, even from this distance he looked transfixed, as if in this moment John was the only thing that was important in this world. As if he was hanging on his every word, liable to break down if John did. No, John could stay strong. Or at least try.

“This phone call, it’s, ah…it’s my note. It’s what people do. Leave a note. You never seemed to understand why,” he said, and his voice broke on the last word. He cleared his throat, hoping to bring all the emotion back in instead of pouring it out to Sherlock and hurting the detective worse than he was already going to.  
Sherlock’s voice was rough when he spoke, the usually smooth baritone wrinkled by the emotion that was bleeding through. “Leave a note when?” he asked, and it took John a minute to get the words out, his voice strained nearly to the point of breaking.

“Goodbye, Sherlock.”

“No, don’t—” Whatever Sherlock was about to say was lost to his ears as he tossed the phone aside, taking another deep breath.

“ _John!_ ”

He closed his eyes, and jumped.


End file.
